e
you.

_Prince._ Where?--Oh, set the happy Slave but in my View, and--

_Geo._ No, faith, Sir, be convinc'd before you strike, for fear she jilt
you out of Sense and Reason--

_Prince._ Come to my Closet, from thence we may observe all that passes
in her Chamber; from whence I'll break upon the perjur'd Fair, like
Thunder from a Cloud, and more destructive.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Chamber. Draws and discovers _Mirtilla_ and _Manage_.

_Mir._ Is the Prince gone?

_Man._ Yes, Madam.

_Mir._ Then bring _Endimion_ to me.

_Man._ Madam, I wish you'd think no more of him; for I foresee, that
this Amour must ruin you. Remember you have left a Husband for the
Prince.

_Mir._ A Husband! my Drudge, to toil for me, and save me the Expence of
careful Thoughts: My Cloke, my Led-Horse, for Necessity to fill my
Train--no more--but _Endimion_ waits.
[Exit _Manage_.
--There is a native Generosity in me, that checks my Inconstancy to
this great Man; yet I have so much Woman in my Soul, cannot pain my self
to do him Justice--A new desire of humouring my wish, sways all my
Interest, and controuls all my Honour. Why should I lose a Pleasure for
a Promise? since Time, that gives our Youth so short a Date, may well
excuse our needful Perjury.

Enter _Manage_, and _Olivia_, she runs and embraces him.

--Let the young bashful Maid, unskill'd in Love, deny the pressing
Swain.

Let wither'd Age, who fondly dreams of Virtue, lose the dear
Opportunities of Life.

The coming Hours present themselves to us; and are too nice, not to be
snatch'd when offer'd.

_Oliv._ So hasty! this disarms me of Excuse. [Aside.

_Mir._ Why are thy Eyes bent down? Why dost thou pause?

_Oliv._ So hot!--I must prepare to shew my Sex's Evidence, if nothing
else will do.
[Unbuttons her Coat.

_Mir._ What, not a Word!

Advance, thou bashful Youth--Love in thy Eyes, and Coward in thy Heart!
The one all Fire, the other too much Ice.

_Prince_ and _George_ looking out.

_Prince._ Yet stay me, my _Lejere_, from my hasty Vengeance.

_Oliv._ Ah, Madam, how are you mistaken! 'Tis not Coldness in me--but--

_Mir._ What, Bashfulness!
Oh, Love will lend thee Courage;
This Trembling is the soft Effects of it.

_Oliv._ Oh, how vilely she's mistaken!

_Mir._ Come to my Bed, and press the Roses down; and lend more sweetness
to 'em than they bring.
[She leading him to her Bed, the _Prince_ enters, with _Lejere_,